Love Drunk
by Quentonomorph
Summary: Danny forces Jackson to go clubbing. Jackson runs into Stiles. Sexiness ensues. Stackson Slash.
1. Chapter 1

The bottle of Jack Daniel's smashed against a tree. A little sports car zoomed away. A boy crouched in the grass, head on the ground, hands cradling his ears, eyes shut tight, crying, screaming.

Jackson didn't know why he was drinking, why he felt as if he wasn't good enough, like he had to prove himself, had to be the best at everything and was failing so miserably. Lydia was trying to be supportive even when he didn't deserve it. He loved her. She loved him. So why did he drink himself half to death every other night? Why did he scream at her when she tried to help? Why did Lydia just leave him?

Why did everything fall apart?

It was fucking McCall's fault. All of it. Everything was fine until he got his dumb ass bit. Suddenly he was better than Jackson. He was faster, he was stronger, had quicker reflexes. Everything Jackson wanted for himself. And Derek gave it to him. So why wasn't he happy? Why wasn't everything perfect again?

Why wasn't Jackson perfect?

Jackson lay on the ground for a long time, quietly weeping into his hands. He didn't know if he was trembling from the cold or the tears.

He decided it was time to get home. He was out of booze anyway. He stood, didn't even bother to brush the damp grass from his side, grabbed his lacrosse stick and climbed in his Porsche. He drove away from the park as fast as he could. He didn't know why it was his favorite place to drink and cry. It was just a field and some woods. Any time he needed to get away from the rest of the world he went there. He would practice shooting a ball into a can he put in a tree years ago. He would usually drink. He would usually miss. It would frustrate him, which would make him drink more, which would make his misses worse. He rarely left the place feeling better than when he got there. Fresh tears welled in his eyes when he remembered that he and Lydia gave each other their virginity there.

Jackson slowed when he realized he was driving almost seventy in a thirty-five zone. It's not like it mattered, no one was around anyway, but he really wasn't in the mood to be pulled over, and he definitely wasn't sober. He checked his phone to find ten missed calls and twenty text messages from Danny. _Where r u? Whats going on? You better not be drinking. Answer me! Why wont you answer me? _And so on, and so on.

The motion-light on the garage clicked on as Jackson pulled into his driveway. It was after ten and his parents still weren't home yet. Probably got hung up in a meeting. What else is new? Up in his room Jackson plopped down on his bed and called Danny.

"Finally! Are you alright? You looked miserable at school and Lydia sent me "he's your problem now" a few minutes ago! What's going on?"

"I'm jus' a li'l tipsy an' she got all mad. She dumped me," Jackson managed to say through his drunken slur.

"Are you at home?" Jackson hadn't even finished saying 'yeah' when Danny said, "Sit tight, I'm coming to get you," and hung up. He sounded genuinely worried. He was probably pissed that Jackson was drinking but he didn't say anything about it. He was too good to Jackson. He didn't deserve a friend like Danny. He was miserable, pathetic, had everything he could ask for and still bitched about it.

Jackson's stomach twisted and turned and he barely made it to the bathroom when he saw that Jack Daniel's again. Turns out whiskey is even worse the second time. He washed up his face and was brushing his teeth as Danny burst in without even knocking.

"Take this," he said as he thrust a cup of gas station coffee at Jackson. "And this, and this," referring to the aspirin and anti-acids in the plastic bag in his hand. Jackson nodded slowly and took his remedies and Danny was back in his room, collecting clothes and blankets into a duffel bag.

"What'r you doin'?" Jackson tried and failed at pronouncing all of his words correctly.

"You're staying at my place tonight and you are not going to puke on my blankets," Danny said matter-of-factly and continued darting around at what Jackson felt was an unnecessary speed, but maybe that was the alcohol talking.

Jackson stood and watched and sipped at the overly strong coffee. When Danny was satisfied he beckoned for Jackson to follow him to his car. Jackson obeyed, stumbling and shuffling his way along.

Danny laid Jackson down on his side in his bed with a bowl beneath him to catch any vomit, but refused to let him sleep until he had at least started to sober up a bit. To pass the time Danny asked a lot of questions that Jackson really didn't want to answer but knew he was going to have to eventually.

"Why were you drinking?"

"I dunno."

"Were you sad?"

"Yeah."

"About what?" Jackson just shrugged. "Jackson, we can't fix whatever problems you're having if you won't admit to having them. So what happened at the park?"

"I went there to drink an' I did an' then Lydia was there an' she was sad cuz I was drinkin' and I said I could if I want and then she got mad an' said we're through an' then she left." It sounded even more pathetic with his slurred, tired words.

Danny was silent, then patted Jackson on the shoulder and stood from the chair he was sitting in. "You've had a rough day, buddy. Get some sleep. We can hang out tomorrow and I'll try to find us some non-alcoholic forms of entertainment." He flashed a weak smile and turned out the light before heading to the living room couch to sleep on. Jackson could hear him sigh and knew he was rubbing his eyes and shaking his head, so disappointed in him. Everyone was disappointed in him. Especially himself. And that hurt way worse than a hangover ever could.

Danny let Jackson sleep until eleven before he forced him to go shower. Jackson's head felt like an axe was buried in it. He made the water as warm as he could without scalding himself and sat on the floor of the shower with his legs crossed, letting it cascade over him. He stayed like this for twenty minutes, listening to the soft pattering of the water hitting the floor around him.

Danny knocked on the bathroom door. "You OK in there?"

"Yeah," Jackson mumbled. He stood and shut the water off, immediately missing its warmth. He toweled off and changed into the jeans and sweater Danny had set out for him.

"There you are," Danny said as Jackson stepped out of the bathroom. "Come on, we're getting breakfast. Err, lunch now, I guess." Danny smiled and led him to the car.

He took him to his favorite cafe. Jackson had heard him talk about it before but had never actually been. Cafes weren't really his type. He and Danny, the strapping young jocks they were, stuck out like a sore thumb against the small mob of college-aged hipsters and middle-aged gay men who seem to forget that they're middle-aged, yet Danny seemed so comfortable there, even waved to a few other regulars. He's probably slept with them all. Danny's a really nice guy, but the boy gets around.

Jackson was a little hurt that Danny had never tried anything with him. He was pretty sure that he would have said no anyway, being that he had never been interested in men and that Danny was his best friend, but still, he's _the _Jackson Whittemore. _Everyone _wants him. That's just how it is. Well, everyone but Lydia now. Jackson felt a fresh pang of hurt in his chest.

Danny was ordering something for both of them, knowing that Jackson would have no clue of what to get. They waited by the counter while their food was made, then Danny led them to a table near the window.

The cafe was in a part of the downtown that Jackson rarely visited. It was mostly hipster-ish cafes like this one and restaurants and small shops.

The bright blue sky shown through the windows warmly without being over-bearing. Light indie music was being played quietly through the speakers above their heads. It was all very relaxing. It was the perfect remedy to Jackson's hangover. He picked up his drink and took a sip. It was some kind of coffee with caramel and maybe chocolate. It was delicious. Danny had ordered a "quiche," whatever the Hell that was and had gotten Jackson a panini with a bunch of weird shit on it, but it tasted surprisingly good.

Danny looked up at Jackson and studied him for a second. "Feeling any better?"

Jackson nodded and said, "Yeah. Thanks," without looking up. He was awful at showing people how he felt. He felt bad for not being able to express how grateful he was for Danny.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Jackson shook his head. He really did want to talk about it, but didn't know how.

"What do you want to do today? I'm spending all day with you and there's nothing you can do about it," Danny said with a grin.

"I dunno. I just figured we'd hang out at your place. Watch some movies or something," Jackson shrugged.

"Perfect! Oh, but I'm meeting Patrick at The Jungle at eight thirty, so you should be out before then... Unless you wanna come with us?" Danny looked so hopeful it was sad. The Jungle was the only strictly gay club in Beacon Hills, and Patrick was Danny's newest fling. It didn't sound like Jackson's kind of fun. It's not that he didn't like Patrick, and it's not like he wasn't OK with gays, it just never really appealed to him as something he would enjoy himself.

"Pleeeeease," Danny pleaded. "It'll be fun! You can find a cute guy and dance with him and forget about all your worries and just have a good time and pleeeeease! Please go?"

Jackson thought about it. It would be nice just to get away from everything, but the dancing with other guys thing was a little weird, and he wasn't sure he would enjoy it. "I don't know. I don't really think I'm into that." Danny pulled the most pitiful puppy-dog look he could possibly muster. Damn him and his stupid puppy-dog look. It always worked. Jackson rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine. I'll go to the stupid club with you and your stupid boyfriend. But only if I'm allowed to drink."

"Yay! Now what on Earth are you going to wear..."

Apparently, nothing Jackson owned was appropriate "club wear". Danny had spent an hour and a half treating Jackson like a Barbie doll, dressing him, deciding he didn't like it, and dressing him in something different. He gave up on Jackson's closet completely and took him back to his house to lend him something decent. He finally decided on the tightest jeans Jackson had ever worn and a dark red t-shirt that was far too tight and had a far too low-cut v-neck.

Jackson might as well have been wearing a neon sign that read "gay men fuck me now", but that was pretty much what Danny was looking for. "Isn't it kind of cold to be wearing a t-shirt?" Jackson asked.

Danny scoffed at him and said, "Don't be such a puss. Being cold is the price you pay for being sexy." Jackson begged to differ, as he was sexy no matter what he wore, but didn't argue the point. He just wanted to get to the club and get wasted enough to forget whatever hellish night was in front of him.

It was eight forty-five as they were pulling into the parking lot. Danny wanted to be fashionably late for his date, without being disrespectful. There was a line out the door that led to the corner. Jackson wondered how long it would take them to get in, but Danny grabbed his hand and marched straight through the door, completely ignoring the line and flashing a flirty grin at the bouncer.

Danny stopped and scanned the room for Patrick, while Jackson just stood back and observed The Jungle. It was all one room, the size of a small warehouse, with a stage in the middle of the left-hand wall and a bar opposite. Throngs of people were already thrashing and grinding to the pounding pulse of the techno dance music. Several men on the dance floor were shirtless, and the multicolored spotlights were reflected off their glistening bodies. It was so dark and there were so many people that Jackson didn't know how Danny could find Patrick, but in just a few seconds of searching Danny had located him and was pulling Jackson along to meet him.

Patrick was just a hair shorter than Danny and Jackson and a lot skinnier. He was dressed in a thin, gray long-sleeved t-shirt that clung to him in all the right places and a pair of bright green skinnies that made his ass look extra perky. He was obviously older than Danny and Jackson, but not by much, and he was a lot less skeevy than most of the guys Danny hooked up with. He actually looked like a pretty decent guy, despite their location. Jackson approved, not that Danny had ever considered his opinion on boys anyway.

"Patrick, this is my best friend, Jackson. He says he's not gay, but we can fix that," Danny said with a mischievous grin. Jackson rolled his eyes.

"It's nice to meet you," Patrick said and held out his hand.

Jackson shook it and said, "You, too. Now if you'll both excuse me, I'm not going to have a good time here without being drunk off my ass," and he strode off to take a seat at the bar.

He was eying the menu and was trying to decide what the best plan of action was to get a drink without being carded, when the scantily clad bartender placed a Jello shot on the bar in front of him and said, "compliments of the man down there," and pointed to an older guy, probably in his thirties, who winked at him. Jackson smiled in return and downed the drink.

"And this," the bartender added, setting a Long Island Iced Tea next to the empty shot glass, "is from him," and he nodded at another guy at the other end of the bar.

He could get used to this.

Half an hour and way too much alcohol later Jackson stumbled from the bar. He didn't get more than a few steps away when a whiff of something very familiar hit him hard. There were hundreds of scents here, most of them being sweat and pheromones, but this one felt like family, like part of the pack. He whipped his head around, then wished he hadn't, then tried to locate whoever it was. It definitely wasn't Danny, though he could smell him, too. It was someone he didn't spend a lot of time with but he was definitely close to. Then he heard a voice that cut through all the rest. Jackson pinpointed it to a boy with short brown hair, a pair of black skinny jeans, and a grey hoodie, drinking out of a glass from a straw. The boy turned to scan the crowd.

"Stilinksi?" Stiles glanced up to see Jackson and nearly choked on his drink. Jackson approached him as he tried not to spray his Coke everywhere.

"Jackson! Fancy seeing you here." Stiles' eyes were wide and he focused them on his glass, trying to avoid contact with Jackson's.

"What are you doing here?"

Stiles looked up and seemed to think about his answer. "What are you doing here?" he asked with what was probably supposed to be a cool tone, but Jackson could hear his heart pounding.

"Danny dragged me along. He wanted to get me out of the house. He's probably hoping I'll get laid. What are _you _doing here?"

Stiles looked back at his drink and fumbled over his words. "Oh, just, you know, hangin' out."

Jackson stared at him incredulously. "At a gay club?"

Stiles' eyes darted around the room, looking at everything but Jackson's face. "Yeah?"

"You've been crushing on Lydia since the third grade. I'm pretty sure you're not gay."

"Well maybe I'm bi, I don't know! There isn't exactly a guide book for these things, I would know, I looked!" His arms flailed as he got flustered. It seems to be a common occurrence with Stiles.

Jackson continued to stare at him. Finally, he asked, "Well are you gonna go dance or are you just gonna stand here and look stupid?"

Stiles seemed to be at a loss for words. It should be marked on the calendar. Jackson rolled his eyes, took Stiles by the hand, and led him to the middle of the floor. When Danny had instructed him to dance with some cute boys, he probably wasn't thinking of Stiles, but oh, well. Jackson felt a lot more comfortable dancing with Stiles than a complete stranger.

When they acceptably close to the speakers Jackson stopped. He put his hands above his head and started to move with the music. The deep bass rumbled its steady beat and Jackson rolled his body with it. He lifted his eyelids just a crack to look at Stiles. He was just standing there, looking around awkwardly, feeling completely out of place and not even attempting to dance. This is not what clubbing is about.

Jackson rolled his eyes in frustration and grabbed him. He pulled his hips close to his own and moved them in a circular motion. Stiles practically squealed, his eyes comically wide and his mouth hanging open just a fraction. Jackson smirked and continued dancing, trying to get the other boy to loosen up. It was just dancing. It wasn't that hard. He pushed his face into Stiles' neck and ran his hands under the hem of his shirt to grip him just above the waist. He smelled really, really good. Jackson was inexplicably comfortable with their position. Probably just the alcohol.

It was kind of a challenge, trying to get Stiles as comfortable as he was, trying to get him to dance. He was completely tensed up, unmoving, his hands hanging stupidly at his sides, unsure of what to do. Jackson couldn't stand how awkward this kid was. Just dance, damn it! Jackson clamped his teeth gently onto the side of Stiles' neck, dragging them across the skin there, giving it a flick with his tongue. That did the trick. Stiles' hands immediately jumped to Jackson's back, just under his shoulders. His head tipped back slightly and his eyes fluttered shut. His knees unlocked and he leaned into Jackson for support, and Jackson loved it.

"Jackson, I - ,"

"Shh," Jackson whispered right next to his ear, and placed a gentle kiss on the side of his face. "Just have a little fun with me. Pleeease?" and he nibbled for a second on Stiles' earlobe. The other boy took in a sharp gasp, and Jackson took the opportunity to put his mouth around his. He moved his tongue in quickly but ever so softly, not wanting to scare the kid. Stiles froze for just a second but then moved his hands into Jackson's hair and tongued back with just the slightest moan.

Jackson's heart gave a tiny jump at his positive reaction and he pulled Stiles as close as he possibly could, feeling their erections press into each other. He let his hands roam over Stiles' bare back, occasionally making a detour to his chest. Stiles' fingers worked their way into Jackson's hair as his tongue worked its way into his mouth. He was a damn good kisser. He pulled the tip of his tongue along the bottom of Jackson's and it was electrifying.

Jackson had never kissed a boy before, but he was beginning to regret never trying. It was an easy kiss. It wasn't fast and violent but it wasn't slow and careful, it was just a kiss and it was beautiful. Their mouths melted together and Jackson felt calm. It was relaxing but still powerful, and Stiles' fingers were sliding down to the back of Jackson's neck, holding him close, making sure he didn't leave, as if he would ever dream of it.

Jackson's cock was straining at his zipper and it wanted something less calm and more sexy and Jackson obeyed. He broke the kiss, and Stiles tried to follow, but he turned around and pressed his back into Stiles' front and took his hands and held them to his chest. He leaned his head back onto Stiles' shoulder and sucked on his ear. He let go of Stiles' hands and put one of his around Stile's neck and the other on his ass. He felt Stiles' hard-on press into him and ground into it just to tease him. Stiles' hands began to move over his stomach and under his shirt. One hand stayed to feel his abs and the other moved to play with his nipple and his mouth began to work at where his shoulder met his neck. Jackson relinquished his ear to let him have better access at his neck. He surprised himself with how wanton the moan that came out of his lips was.

He must be seriously drunk. Completely hammered. There's no way that he would do this with a guy, especially Stiles, if he wasn't. Probably. But whatever, it's fun, and he'll do what he wants.

When he got tired of being the submissive one he flipped the tables again. He spun and grabbed Stiles and kissed him for just a second, then shed his shirt. It was way too hot in this place. Stiles kissed him again, but Jackson flipped him around, reversing their previous position. Stiles whined at the shortness of the kiss but his whine shifted into a gasp and a moan when Jackson slipped his hands between his legs and grabbed him firmly, stroking his cock through his jeans. Stiles quickly unzipped his jacket and took of his t-shirt to let the bare skin of his back touch the bare skin of Jackson's chest and stomach.

Jackson bit and sucked on his neck and felt his stomach possessively, keeping one hand on his erection the entire time. He was just about to slide his hand into Stile's pants when he was interrupted.

"Uh, Jackson?" He looked up to see Danny standing in front of them looking very confused. Stiles nearly fell over in his shock and embarrassment, but quickly righted himself and stepped away from Jackson.

"Oh, hey, Danny!" Jackson said as nonchalantly as he could muster.

"Uh, I just came to check on how you were doing, but I guess you're doing pretty well," Danny said and eyed Stiles suspiciously. Stiles just looked at the floor, his face a bright red.

"Yep, I'm good. See ya later! Have a nice night with Patrick!"

"Uh, right. We're just about to leave, so I'll see you tomorrow. Have a nice night." Danny backed away slowly, turned, and wandered off in a daze.

Jackson was immediately back on Stiles, running his finger down the trail of hair on his abdomen and sucking on his neck.

Stiles backed away, looking nervous and still very embarrassed.

Jackson frowned. He wasn't finished yet. He bent down to pick up their discarded clothing then whispered in Stiles' ear, "Why don't we go somewhere a little more private?" He took his hand and pulled him along through the crowd and out the Stile's crappy blue Jeep. He pushed Stiles into the driver's seat and walked around the front to get to the passenger's seat. Once in, he buckled his seat belt and instructed, "My place."

Stiles looked like he was in shock, but just nodded, eyes wide and mouth ajar, and turned the ignition.


	2. Chapter 2

Jackson put his hand on the inside of Stiles' thigh and rubbed it, moving slowly up into his crotch. He was unbelievably hard and could tell that Stiles was, too.

Stiles practically spasmed. "Jackson, I'll crash if you keep distracting me like that."

Jackson frowned but kept his hands to himself the rest of the ride, feeling up his own erection and rubbing his chest as seductively as he could. Stiles could barely keep his eyes off of him. His hands gripped the steering wheel as tight as they could, his knuckles a bright white. Jackson loved the way his mouth hung open, like it was begging him to slip inside.

Not a second after the Jeep was parked in Jackson's driveway, he reached between Stiles' leg and pushed the seat all the way back, then climbed over the console to straddle Stiles, their cocks pressed together and bare chests sticking to each other, tongues wrestling. He grabbed Stiles' hands in his and raised them above their heads, leaving Stiles prone and vulnerable.

He broke the kiss, pulling on Stiles' plump bottom lip with his teeth as he did, and made a line of wet kisses along his jaw and down his neck and on his Adam's apple, past his collar bone and onto his chest, taking a moment to lap and suck at each of his nipples. He considered going further but decided there just wasn't enough room in the driver's seat. He wanted Stiles to be comfortable when he played with him.

Jackson opened the door and stepped out of the Jeep and glanced around to make sure they were alone. Neither of his parents' cars were there. Perfect. Stiles climbed out and was making his way forward for a kiss, but Jackson grabbed him between the legs and pulled him to the house.

Once in, he was about to drag Stiles to the stairs, but stopped short when he noticed the liquor cabinet. A mischievous grin played across his face as he raided the shelves for something fun and flirty to share with his boy toy. He settled for some flavored vodka.

He displayed the flavors to Stiles who considered for a moment and snatched up the bubblegum. A wise choice. Jackson chose a citrus. They cracked them open, clinked bottles in a toast, and chugged. Jackson's bottle was only half full, and was empty in under a minute. Stiles' was almost full and was gone just as quickly. Damn, that boy can drink. Jackson wondered what else Stiles could do with his mouth. He was going to find out.

Jackson tossed his bottle in the sink and attacked Stiles with his mouth. One hand held his back and the other ran through his buzzed hair. Their lips crashed together clumsily and their tongues probed desperately, tasting each other. Jackson drank Stiles in with every sense: the feel of skin on skin, the taste of his tongue, the smell of sweat, those delicious moans and heavy breathing, the sight of his pale neck covered in red bite marks.

Without breaking the kiss, Jackson walked them slowly over to the stairs. At the foot the broke apart for safety concerns. Stiles ran up the stairs with Jackson in hot pursuit, taking the time to admire that fine ass. Once at the top, they were on each other again, groping madly and tongues thrashing.

They stepped into Jackson's room and Stiles toed the door closed and jumped when Jackson pushed him up against it. Stiles' arms went around Jackson's neck and Jackson ran his hands all over the other boy's body, eventually making his way to his jeans. He unhooked the button and unzipped them, then shoved his hand in to grab at Stiles' hard cock through the thin fabric of his boxers. Stiles leaned his head against the door and moaned as Jackson gave him a few tugs, but then Jackson let go and was on his knees in front of him. He grabbed the jeans at the waist and pulled them down as slowly and teasingly as he could, and heard Stiles' sharp intake of breath. He looked up into his eyes and flashed his trademark sexy smirk and Stiles nearly melted.

When the jeans were on the floor, Jackson admired the body before him, now clothed only in underwear. He was thin but strong. Lean without being muscular. He had the sexiest trail running from just under his belly button into the waistband of his boxers, enticing Jackson to follow it, see what was hiding in there. But first, he wanted to make this boy squirm.

He ran his hands along the back of his calves and kissed up the inside of his thigh, all the way to the top, until his nose was buried in his crotch. He rubbed his face in the bulge playfully for just a second, but was then licking up his happy trail and all the way up his stomach and chest until he was standing again, and their lips crashed together again and Stiles raked his finger nails down Jackson's back, which felt so good.

Jackson wrapped his hands under Stiles' firm ass and carried him to the bed. He threw him down and climbed between his legs, pulling at the waste band of Stiles' boxers with his teeth. Jackson wondered what this was going to be like. He had never done anything with a guy, and until now had never wanted to. But here he was with Stilinski's underwear in his mouth. What does dick even taste like? Probably just like skin anywhere else on the body, but what did cum taste like? Lydia said it was awful, but he knew a lot of people really liked swallowing. Whatever, he was too drunk to be contemplating it. Time to shut up and blow.

Jackson pulled the boxers down and Stiles' cock sprang free. Jackson wasn't really a good judge of penis, given the whole straight thing, but he was pretty sure it was a nice one. It was at least six inches and similar to his own, which Lydia never complained about.

He debated how to start, and decided to start with the balls. He pulled the underwear all the way off and spread Stiles' legs wide. He cautiously gave his sac a lick, and, deciding it wasn't too bad, took the whole thing into his mouth. Stiles gasped, and Jackson took that as a good sign. He swirled his tongue around the scrotum, working first on the left testicle, then on the right. Stiles' had Jackson's hair in a death grip and looked like he was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, humming a low rumble of a moan.

Jackson decided to move on. He licked all the way up Stiles' cock, from base to tip, and gave the head a little suck. Stiles' back arched up and his breaths came out shallow and fast. Jackson took his dick back in his mouth and shoved his head down all the way to the base. Stiles' moan was practically a scream, accompanied by a little shudder. This was fun. Jackson loved watching his reactions. And he didn't mind having a cock in his mouth, either. It was just like eating a banana, except less chewing and more sweat.

Jackson began to bob his head up and down. Stiles moved his hips to the rhythm. Jackson liked the way that every time he went down his nose got tickled by the short hairs at the base of Stiles' penis. He tried different movements to see which one got the best reaction. He moved his head around as he bobbed and he circled his tongue around, but Stiles went crazy when he sucked on it, making a vacuum with his mouth. Stiles bucked his hips and thrust his cock deep into Jackson's throat again and again. While Jackson appreciated the enthusiasm, he did not enjoy almost gagging with every push. He placed his hands on Stiles' hips to keep them down. Stiles whined but obeyed and continued to fist Jackson's hair.

Jackson went back to his steady rhythm while unbuttoning his own pants. Jackson had to let go of Stiles and stand to strip fully, and Stiles sat up on his elbows to watch him stroke his own cock. Stiles licked his lip as he stared at Jackson. Jackson smirked and got back on the bed, offering himself to Stiles' mouth. Stiles looked into his eyes, as if asking permission, then took him in greedily.

Stiles immediately went at it. Damn. This kid is a pro. He was a hell of a lot better than Lydia, but that might just be because of how fast he was going. Jackson was afraid he was going to get whiplash, but it felt too good to ask him to slow down.

Stiles continued his down and up motion with the same speed, but made it a little more interesting. At the base of Jackson's cock he would use just the tiniest amount of teeth to pull at the skin there, and he used his tongue more, especially just under the head.

Jackson was about to explode. Stiles was blowing him like his life depended on it, and it was great. He could feel himself getting closer to orgasm, and then Stiles grabbed his sac, pulling it down and rolling it around in his palm, while tickling the back side with his fingers. Jackson tried to say "fuck" but it came out as more of a whimpering moan. He was so close, but he wanted to make this last.

He pushed hard on Stiles' shoulders, pinning him to the bed. He almost cried when his cock slipped out of his warm mouth and was hit by the cool air of the room. He straddled Stiles, their cocks rubbing against each other, and bit and sucked at his neck. Stiles moaned and bucked his hips into Jackson's, rutting against him, pressing their whole torsos together, and dug his nails into his lower back.

When Jackson had sufficiently marked up Stiles' neck, he sat up and swung himself off of him. Stiles looked a little confused, but it made more sense to him when Jackson laid on his side and started sucking him off again. Stiles turned to lay on his side and put Jackson's cock in his mouth.

They both lay there, blowing and moaning and thrusting, and Jackson knew he wasn't going to last long. He wanted to make them cum at the same time, so as to avoid any awkwardness. Jackson pushed into Stiles until they rolled and Jackson was on top. He moved his head all the way down, until he was about to gag, and almost all the way up, just to the head, and repeated as quickly as he could, trying to get Stiles to cum, and continued to push his own cock into his mouth. From the noises they both were making, he could tell it wouldn't take much longer. He got that tingling sensation in his dick and kept blowing until they were both shooting their load into each other.

The orgasm racked Jackson's whole body, and he could barely move aside from the uncontrollable spasming. His mouth filled up with Stiles' cum, which didn't taste very good but wasn't terrible. It was really salty, and had an almost jelly-like consistency. It was really weird, but bearable, and he swallowed all that he could, trying to leave as little of a mess he could. He could feel Stiles doing to same and it was becoming too much for his poor cock to handle. He pulled out and off of Stiles and fell onto his back, panting and sweating.

They both let the cool air being wafted from the ceiling fan above them calm them down. When he thought that he could breathe again he felt Stiles moving away from him, towards the edge of the bed and his clothes and the door. Oh, Hell no.

Jackson grabbed Stiles by the leg and sat up, then had to wait a second as he realized how light-headed he was and how weak his joints were. Stiles looked up at him expectantly, and Jackson lay down next to him, pulling his hips forward to meet his. He reached up behind him, fumbling for the switch to turn off the lamp flanking his bed and flipped it. They were washed in darkness and he snuggled up next to Stiles, resting their foreheads together, and pulled a thick blanket over them. He looked at Stiles, who smiled and wrapped his arms around him and closed his eyes. Jackson closed his eyes, too, and settled in for some much needed sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles was roused out of sleep slowly by the warmth of the sun on his back. It was peaceful, and he felt so comfortable. His eyes fluttered open and tried to make sense of his surroundings. His brows pinched together in confusion. This wasn't his room. This was not his bed, were not his blankets, and his window didn't face the sun in the morning. And the body beneath him was definitely new. He rubbed his eyes and tried to make them focus, tried to get his brain all the way awake and figure out where he was. He looked down at the sleeping form of Jackson Whittemore, completely naked.

Stiles yelped, in a very manly way, and threw himself from the bed, stumbled, and fell to the floor, which he totally planned. Memories of the night before rushed back to him. He went to The Jungle, and drunk Jackson was there, and they danced, and they went to his place, and then... Oh, God.

He rushed to find his clothes and pulled them on as hurriedly as he could. Jackson stirred and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked at Stiles, very confused.

"Stilinski? What're you..." his face fell as realization dawned on him. "Aw, fuck." He fell back onto the bed and covered his face with his hands.

Stiles was sure his face was beet red, but he didn't have time to care. He finished getting all of his clothes in order and said, "I'm just gonna go, I guess." He was half way out the door when he stopped and looked back. "Uh, you're car is still at the club."

"It's fine, just go." Jackson didn't look up, just kept rubbing his eyes. "Danny'll take me up there later."

"Right." Stiles hesitated, thought he should say something else, but didn't know what, so he left. He dashed out to his Jeep and got out of there. He was a few blocks down the road when his eyes started to tear up. He pulled over to the side of the street and put his head on the steering wheel and cried.

What the fuck was he thinking? Why did he do that? What the hell does Jackson think about this? What's going to happen now? God, this is so embarrassing. What was he going to tell Scott? Was he going to tell Scott? No, that would probably be a bad idea.

God, he had fucked this up bad.

Jackson sighed and sat up. He would have to deal with this eventually. What the fuck did he do?

He searched for his phone and found it in the pocket of the jeans he wore the night before. He had one missed text from Danny. _Good morning ;D_. Fucking asshole. He typed out a reply. _Get over here. Now._

He got up and threw on some shorts and a t'shirt and went to the couch downstairs to wait. It was ten 'o' clock and his parents weren't home. He felt bad for not seeing them before they went off to do whatever it was they were doing, but he was glad they didn't walk in on him and Stiles to say goodbye. He found a note on the kitchen counter saying they were meeting friends for brunch.

Jackson sat in the living room and turned the TV on but didn't really watch it. He just sat and thought about the previous night. What the hell was he thinking? Obviously he wasn't. He shouldn't have drank so much, then maybe he wouldn't have danced with Stiles and everything could have been avoided. He would swear off alcohol, but he knew that wouldn't last. He hoped alcoholism didn't run in the family. He would have to look in to that.

The TV droned on and on with some crappy imitation of a real cartoon. Kids these days.

Danny was there in less than ten minutes. He walked straight in, not bothering to knock. He stopped pretending to be polite years ago. He was basically family, though, and he was actually encouraged to come over whenever he wanted.

He strode into the living room with a big goofy grin on his face. "So, how was your night?" He jumped into the seat next to Jackson as obnoxiously as he could. Jackson just glared, trying to convey how much of a not-laughing-matter this was. Danny's smirk turned into a look of concern. "What's the matter, grumpy-head? You looked like you were having fun dancing."

"I did a little more than dance with him, Danny."

Danny's jaw dropped. "No way. With Stiles? Really? How far did you go?" Danny was a little too excited about this. He didn't seem to understand how this was a bad situation.

Jackson sighed. "I don't know, I was really drunk. I don't think we, like... y'know. But we were definitely naked this morning."

"He spent the night? Woah, we're getting serious." Jackson glared at him again. "What?"

"Would you take this a little more seriously?"

"Why? It's not a big deal! You got drunk and hooked up with a cute guy, so what?"

"It is a big deal, Danny!"

"Why?"

"Because I'm not gay! Or at least I don't think I am. I just... GAH!" Jackson put his elbows on his knees and shoved his face in his hands in frustration.

"It was one time and you were wasted, that doesn't mean you're gay, and so what if you were?" Danny just looked at him, exasperated. "Was it really that bad?"

Jackson sighed. "No, it's just... It was actually really fun, but... I've never liked guys before, why now? And why of all people did I choose Stilinski? I mean, fucking _Stilinski?Really?_"

"What's wrong with Stiles? He's a perfectly good candidate for fooling around! I don't even understand why you hate him. Give me a list of cons. Go."

"He's so fucking annoying! He's loud, and he's fidgety, and he never shuts up!"

"Okay, fair enough. Now give me a list of pros." Jackson stayed silent. "Okay, I'll start: he's freaking adorable. Anything to add?" Jackson didn't say anything. "Look, you obviously like something about him."

"He can be funny, I guess. And he's smart. And he's a good guy. He's always helping people, even when they don't deserve it."

"Good! We're making progress! What about him made you want him, specifically last night?"

"I dunno. I was drunk and he was there, and... I dunno, he smelled nice." Danny was silent. Jackson looked up at him. He wore a look of utter confusion. "What? He did! Don't make fun of me I'm being serious!"

Danny shook his head. "Okay, what do you mean he smelled nice?"

"He just... he smelled familiar, like a friend, or family... like he was mine."

Danny looked confused again. "Does anyone else smell like that to you?"

Jackson shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean, you do. Lydia."

"Anyone else?"

Jackson thought about it. "Derek," he made a face. "McCall," he actually shuddered at the thought.

Danny looked a little less confused. "Alright, well that sounds like a werewolf thing, so I don't know if I can help you with that. We could go ask Derek about it?"

Jackson groaned and shook his head. "God, I hate that guy."

"Well, like it or not, he's your alpha now, and it'll be easier to talk about it with him than Scott." Danny gave him a pointed look and Jackson surrendered.

"Fine. Get in the car."

Stiles stayed in his bed the rest of the morning, watching the ceiling. He couldn't believe how stupid he was. Actually, he could, and that was just depressing. He gave his first time to _Jackson. The _Jackson Whittemore, king of the super-douches.

Was he still a virgin now? It was only oral, so it shouldn't count, right? No, it totally doesn't count. Does it? Stiles groaned aloud. He'd been doing that a lot. He punched his headboard in frustration. He'd done that a lot, too. His knuckles wished he hadn't.

At one he decided it was finally time to get a shower. He had to scrub all of the Jackson off of him. Why Jackson? Of all the guys in Beacon Hills, why did he have to run into Jackson? And why was Jackson all over him? He was really drunk. Stiles wasn't. Why did he go along with it? The whole night he had the power to say no, and he should have had the sense to do so. Was that considered taking advantage of him? Did he technically just rape Jackson Whittemore? Is that restraining order still in effect? Fuck, if Jackson wanted to he could put him in jail. But it was totally Jackson's fault, too. He instigated the whole thing.

What is practice going to be like from now on? Seeing him change in the locker room? Pack meetings? God, this is awkward. He totally just fucked up the rest of his high school happiness. Every day he'll be reminded of how stupid he was that night.

Jackson probably hates him now. Well, more than he already did. He's probably thinking of ways to enact revenge right now.

Stiles scrubbed at every part of him that Jackson touched, which was pretty much all of him. He tried not to remember how it felt, skin on skin, his tongue all over his body. It was awful. Totally awful. He definitely did not enjoy it. At all. And he certainly wasn't getting hard thinking about it. And he wasn't touching himself, wishing it was Jackson. Definitely not.

God, this is pathetic. After all the trouble this has caused he wants more? He hates Jackson. He bullies him and Scott all the time. He's so stupid. And arrogant. And stubborn. And sexy. No, no he most definitely is not sexy. Stiles refused to think about his awesome abs, or his lips, or his tongue, or his beautiful cock. Refused to think about it. Yep, he totally wasn't thinking about Jackson as he came in the shower.

Stiles felt disgusted with himself.

After his shower he sat at his desk and tried to do his homework, or listen to music, or play video games, anything to help him forget.

The front door of the Hale house swung open before Danny could knock on it. Derek always needed to make a dramatic appearance.

"What?"

Danny turned to look at Jackson, waiting for him to talk to Derek, but Jackson stared at his ground and shuffled his feet. Danny rolled his eyes and addressed Derek. "Jackson wants to talk to you about something that happened that he's a little confused about." Derek looked at Jackson expectantly. Jackson kept his head down. Danny gave a frustrated sigh and continued to speak for him. "Last night I took him to the club and he got more than a little drunk and he had a one night stand. With Stiles." Derek was obviously shocked but still didn't say anything. "We came to you because he doesn't know _why _he did what he did, but he does know that Stiles smelled really good to him. Like, werewolf smell good, like he felt comfortable with him because he was part of the pack.

Derek shrugged. "Well, yeah. Stiles is basically part of Scott's pack, and Scott is kind of tied to our pack, and we see each other a lot, so it's only natural that he associated Stiles with being pack. As for the... relations," Derek looked like the topic physically pained him to have to talk about, "if he was already drunk and looking for sex, it makes sense that he chose a pack member over someone non-pack." He shrugged again. "So, was there an actual question? Did I answer it? Can I go back inside and pretend I didn't hear any of this?"

Jackson figured there wasn't much left to talk about that Derek could answer, so he nodded and quickly retreated to Danny's car. He heard Danny give Derek a thanks and an apology for Jackson's behavior. Derek just said, "whatever," and went back inside.

Danny got in the car and looked at Jackson. "Did that help at all?" Jackson just shrugged. "Look, it was one night, you were drunk, and he was a familiar face. You had a little fun, and no harm done, right? And now you can pretend like it never happened."

But Jackson really didn't want to pretend it never happened.

The next day was Hell for Stiles. He felt like the world was fuzzy and out of focus and he had a headache and he just wanted to cry, but he was at school and he couldn't. He thought that maybe if he could just put his head down and try to block everything out all day he could make it, but he wasn't sure he could afford to miss his teachers' lectures. He'll have to get notes on what he didn't pay attention to from Allison. He knew that Scott took piss-poor notes on the rare occasions he bothered.

In the two classes he shared with Jackson, Chemistry and History, he made sure he was the first person in the room and stared at his desk until the end of class. He was on the verge of tears for the entirety of both classes. He knew Jackson was in that same room, probably feeling equally as bad about what happened. But maybe Jackson wasn't sad about it like he was. Maybe he was angry about it. Maybe it was just another one night stand to him and he was perfectly fine with it. Like Stiles was nothing to him.

When the bell dismissed the last class of the day Stiles bolted for the door. He really didn't feel like going to practice. Was he allowed to skip? It's not like coach would miss him. He didn't do much. He was just about to turn around and go home when Scott clapped a hand on his back. Stiles mentally groaned. There was no way Scott would let him skip.

"Hey, buddy. You OK? You seem mopey." Honestly, Stiles was thrilled that Scott actually noticed. He's a great guy but he's kind of a dolt.

"I'm fine, just feeling a little under the weather. Probably just a cold or something," he reassured Scott. He didn't like keeping things from his best friend, but he knew he would flip shit if he told him. Scott hated Jackson even more than he did. It was kind of impressive, really.

Scott seemed satisfied by his answer and didn't press the matter the rest of the way to the locker rooms. Luckily, their lockers weren't in line of sight of Jackson's, so he wasn't tempted to sneak a peek. He just stuck next to Scott while they changed, and kept him talking about some pointless shit he wasn't really interested in. He didn't really know what they were talking about, but it was Scott, so it was probably Allison related.

Stiles felt like his head was going to split in two when Coach blew the whistle instructing them to get on the field. He begrudgingly followed Scott outside into the crisp breeze. His head was still pounding like his brain was trying to break out of his skull. He'd be willing to let it.

He endured the stretches and even the running, but there was no way in Hell he could actually practice today. Surely he would get tackled at some point and he feared that his head would actually explode.

Stiles told Scott that he was going to go home, and not to worry about him. He told Coach Finstock that he was sick and needed to sit this practice out, but he was waved away, which he figured was close enough to permission.

He trundled back to the locker room, undressed, and got in the shower. The almost-scalding water was to die for. Just standing under the water, being warmed from head to toe, he felt a million times better. His headache subsided and he felt like he could breathe so much easier now.

He heard the outside door open and close, and he wondered who came in, but he really just didn't care enough to look, and his shower was so cozy.

"Stiles?" Stiles nearly shit himself when he heard Jackson enter the shower room. Jackson was here to kill him. Or ridicule him. Or something else incredibly awful. He was sure of it.

"Uh, hi," Stiles said nervously, unsure of how to best prolong his life. It was really awkward, standing there in the shower, naked, talking to a clothed Jackson, but Jackson was watching his own feet, which helped.

"I, uh... I just wanted to talk about... y'know... the other night." Jackson looked even more awkward than Stiles. It was kind of adorable. "Look, I'm really sorry about being all over you. I was really drunk and I was having a bad day, and you were there and I took advantage of you, and I'm sorry."

Stiles was taken aback. He was not expecting an apology, and he certainly wasn't expecting Jackson to take the blame for any kind of advantage taking. "No, I... I mean, you were drunk, it's not your fault... I was the sober one, I should have stopped it. If anything, I took advantage of you."

Jackson looked up, and quickly looked down. "I didn't seem to mind," he said with a smirk, gaining back some of that Jackson charm that everyone was used to. "I, uh... I actually had a nice time... with you." Stiles felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Jackson took a step forward and looked up again. "I actually wanted to know if you wanted to try it again sometime?"

Stiles couldn't believe what he was hearing. Jackson Whittemore was coming on to him, and not lightly. And he was very sober. And he was getting closer. And Stiles was moving toward him. And he wanted him.

Stiles stepped out of the shower's spray, and he didn't know if his shiver was from the cool air or the mounting anticipation of Jackson's lips on his again. There they were, warm and soft and inviting, but firm and steady, pulling on his own and covering his mouth with his. Their tongues played together softly but passionately, and Stiles melted into him. He put both hands on the back of Jackson's head, pulling him closer and angling into him and gripping his hair, but ever so gently.

Jackson began kicking his shoes and socks off and he held Stiles' lower back and waist. He flung his shoes far away, not caring where they landed, as long as they stayed somewhat dry. Stiles' hands left his hair and ran under the hem of his jersey and the t-shirt under it, feeling his stomach and chest and back. Jackson raised his hands and took half a step back so Stiles could pull the clothing off of him and toss it next to his shoes.

Jackson shoved Stiles into the wall behind them and pushed into him, the wall ice cold on Stiles' back. He grabbed Stiles' thigh and picked it up to wrap his leg around his waist. Stiles could feel Jackson's cock on his through his shorts and Jackson rocked his hips, thrusting his bulge into him. They were both getting hard and those shorts needed to go.

Stiles pulled them down as far as he could with his hands and used his toe to slide them further, until they fell to the floor and Jackson stepped out of them. Now the only thing between them were his underwear. They were the Under Armour compression kind and they outlined his dick perfectly.

Stiles grabbed at him, squeezing and pulling, and Jackson moaned into his mouth and bucked into his hand. Jackson let go of him and discarded the underwear and was on him again, finally naked, and he pulled him back under the shower head.

They continued kissing furiously and they took each other in hand, stroking and moaning. Their breathing was shallow and needy and they pushed into each other's tight grips, and pumped faster and faster until they both came all over their stomachs.

Stiles let his head fall into Jackson's shoulder and they both gulped for air, bodies shaky. Stiles took Jackson's wrist and dragged his fingers through his cum on Stiles' belly, and put the fingers in his mouth. He licked and sucked seductively, and Jackson gasped and grabbed at his ass with his free hand. Stiles let out a weak huff of laughter and they both smiled and kissed and they stayed like that, unwilling to go back to the real world, wanting to just stay there holding each other forever.


End file.
